As soon as the little girl could do any thing, the step-mother gave her plenty of work. Thus the years went by till the eve of the fête of Corpus Christi, when baby Gracia was brought to the cottage.
It seemed like the dawn of a new life to the lonely Catrina to look into that sweet baby face, and when the little one learned to love her and cry for her, though she found her task much heavier, her heart grew so light that her little hands worked wonders.
The woman took off the pretty coral necklace and sleeve clasps, and all the child’s fine clothes, and placed them in the strong oaken chest at the head of her bed. Little Gracia was dressed in clothes coarse as Catrina’s, but still she grew more lovely every day, and looked like a little princess in her rags.
Even the seared heart of the woman softened to the winning ways of the pretty child, though sometimes she would drive her away, exclaiming: “Go, go from me—I hate the race.” At other times she would take her in her arms, saying: “The baby is not to blame,” and with tears dimming her eyes, cover the little face with fond caresses.
Thus passed five long years at the cottage. Catrina had grown stronger, and more shapely. Her face was full of love and tenderness, though exposure had made her skin very rough and brown. Gracia had changed from babyhood to a sportive child, graceful as a young fawn.
One rainy night the woman came home very late, leaning heavily upon the arm of an old Indian, who with great difficulty supported her trembling steps. She was very ill, and she felt the cold shadow of death falling upon her.
Gracia was asleep, but Catrina sat by the fire waiting, and keeping the supper hot. She was frightened when she saw the pale face of the step-mother, and trembled with fear as she helped the Indian to lay her upon the bed.
For a few moments the sick woman was silent from exhaustion, but after a time she called Catrina to her.
“Listen to me, Catrina, for my time is growing short. I have been cruel to you at times, but you have been always good and true. Forgive me now, my poor Catrina as you pray the good Lord to forgive you.”